


The Middle

by Bittah_Wizard



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Gen, Recreating the Classics, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Short Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 02:05:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17356895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bittah_Wizard/pseuds/Bittah_Wizard
Summary: The LimboCo execs are giving out performance reviews to employees, and as always, Adam is the first.





	The Middle

There are exactly 786 rubber bands strewn across my desk. My hands are idly fiddling with the small, bouncy gray ball that was at the center of the once great SuperDuper Rubber Band Ball™. Gray bouncy ball, gray rubber bands—I’m starting to think the company manufactures them simply to match the office. I honestly can’t think of what else 786 rubber bands could be useful for.

Sighing, I lean back in my charcoal (yes, _charcoal_ as Janine from Human Resources has often corrected me), absolutely non-ergonomic swivel chair. Behind me, a throat obnoxiously attempts to clear itself of imaginary phlegm; I don’t even need to look back to know who is standing behind me. I’d know that fake-throat-clearing sound anywhere. She’s probably got her arms crossed and her left foot tapping.

My life is nothing if not predictable.

“You should really get back to work.” I swivel 180 degrees to face my accuser.

“Well, you really shouldn’t wear that black suit. You look like the fucking Crypt-Keeper,” I snark back. Seriously though, Janine really needs come new conditioner, and maybe some face-cream or something; she’s looking more skeleton-y than usual.

“Clever as always, Adam. It’s that sort of wit that I expect has landed you a meeting with Rick in seven minutes." She continues to stare at me, as if her gaze alone could will me into Rick’s office. 

She stares at me. I stare back. My right eyelid twitches.

Pushing through the pain, I continue to meet her wintry glare and say, “Could you quit tapping your foot. Why is it always the left? Do you have restless legs syndrome? Would it just be restless _leg_ syndrome because you only use your left foot?” I once again lean back in my swivel chair, arms cocked confidently behind my head. Not many people can sass with Janine, but I think I handle myself pretty well.

Somehow, her gaze becomes icier. She cocks her head like a predator sizing up its prey. Then, the most frightening thing happens—she smiles. There seem to be more teeth in her mouth than I thought was humanly possible, and she’s currently using all 108 of them to unnerve me.

It’s working.

Her smile becomes self-satisfied as she lazily responds, “Funnily enough, I _do_ have restless leg syndrome.” As if to prove her condition true, she kicks me swiftly in the shin.

With her left foot.

I jackknife in my seat, gripping my leg and whimpering for all that I’m worth—which, according to my minimalist paycheck, isn’t much. Janine seems quite proud of the outcome of our conversation. “Rick’s office. Twelfth floor. Four minutes,” she says. With a final smirk, Janine walks away from my cubicle and disappears around the corner.

I don’t even know why she passes by my workspace at all; she works on the eleventh floor. I work on the first. It’s just further proof that this company is designed to make my life miserable.

I get up from my desk and wiggle my leg around. Limping toward the elevators, I contemplate how I got to this point in my life. It’s gotten so monotonous that I’m starting to forget. I step into the elevator and press the twelfth button. There’s a _ding!_ and the doors close. It’s strange, but I don’t think I’ve ever been to the top floor. The twelfth floor is reserved for the uppity schmucks and those that make the big bucks. I wonder what this meeting is going to be about.

Maybe he needs to know how many rubber bands are in a SuperDuper Rubber Band Ball™.

Probably not.

Maybe Rick knows about the Iguana Incident. Okay, I need to stop freaking out; there’s no way he knows about the Iguana Incident, it’s LimboCo’s _Fight Club_. He just needs a report or something. Yeah, a report. But…a report about what? My mind blanks. What is my job again? I can’t seem to remember what I do.

No wonder they don’t pay me well.

My freak-out is interrupted by another _ding!_ and the doors hissing open. I step off and look at my surroundings. Wall-to-wall windows allow the sun to sear my retinas, a very disconcerting sensation after working day-to-day in a glorified cave. I stumble toward the receptionist’s desk, a monstrous black thing that seems to guard the door to the office behind it. I blink quickly, quite sure that I’ve actually been blinded when I realize just who I’m looking at. The secretary is a monstrous bald man; his accessories include a leather jacket, a scowl, an intricate head tattoo (are those two other human skulls tattooed on his skull???), and a Bluetooth headset. I’m tempted to pull a Janine and cough all over the guy, but he seems like the type of person that would ask me to be silent in a forever kind of way. He’s typing at a rapid pace and has yet to look away from the screen. I glance around, wondering if this is some sort of joke.

I’m definitely not in on it.

“Can I help you?” Baldy McSkulls grumps in my general direction. His eyes finally flick away from the computer and meet my own. He doesn’t seem impressed.

“Uh, well, I guess, Adam to see Rick. He’s expecting me?” I stutter.

He stares at me intently, and I swear I hear a faint growl. “Go right on in,” he finally replies. After buzzing a button on the desk, he waves me on through. My feet twitch to life and proceed to carry me through the doorway. I’m immediately greeted by the sight of not only my boss Rick, but all of _his_ bosses.

I count over twenty people in the room, all talking to one another. It is in this moment that I am reminded that Rick is just another cog in the machine. He might be a big fish in LimboCo, but he answers to many more higher powers than I do. He stands up from the curved table, it’s the sort of table usually found in court rooms, and that fact makes my heart beat even faster. Rick walks over to me and says, “Hello, Adam. So good of you to join us. Do you know why you’re here?”

Of course, I don’t know why I’m here. That has officially become the dumbest thing that I’ve ever heard, and I once had to listen to Christopher-don’t-call-me-Chris from Accounting complain that he couldn’t figure out how to use a three-hole punch. I have to grit my teeth to keep my instinctive response (e.g. mocking his facial hair) from leaving my mouth. “No, Ricky, I don’t,” I reply. “Janine only said that I would be meeting with you and to come to your office as quickly as possible.”  

“That’s quite alright,” he says calmly. His eyes squint at me while he goes on, “But, I have told you to stop calling me ‘Ricky.’ My name is Alarick, and I am quite proud of it. Your impertinence will be noted in today’s review.”

I hate him. Everything from his rigid formality to his weird mustache makes me hate him. He’s evil, but he stays in power because some people seem to think he’s charismatic. Some people also think driving a Hummer isn’t obnoxious, or that eating kale isn’t disgusting. The world is an imperfect place.

I give him a look and then realize, “What review?”

There’s a sharp smack of wood against wood, as if someone had brought in a gavel to perfect this mock-courtroom. The room falls silent, and a young woman, with dark skin and darker hair, stands up from her seat. Her eyes are that of a snake and she grins at me, “Yes, Adam, a performance review. We’re here to make some cuts; too many people, not enough space, you know how it goes. You’re our favorite to pick apart, so, like it has always been, you will go first. Let us begin.”

I’m not quite sure what to make of her statement, and I don’t get far in my deliberation because I suddenly develop a splitting headache. I press my hand to my head, tears forming at the corners of my eyes. Rick leaves my side and slithers over to the woman, Lucy, her name plaque reads, and sits down. Suddenly, the entire room starts talking again. Through the pounding of my head, I slowly come to realize that not everyone is speaking the same language.

English, Chinese, what is that, Latin?, Hebrew, Arabic—I don’t even know how I know these languages. Their words come pouring in, and so does the pain. I feel like my brain is melting. I grip my hands to my ears and force my eyes shut.

_MakeitstopMakeitstopMakeitstopMakeitstopMAKEITSTOPMAKEITSTOPMAKE—_

It stops. As quickly as it began, it stops.

I don’t know who received my plea, but it seems to have worked. I unfurl my fists and let them flop uselessly at my sides. My eyes open, only to see an old man directly in front of me. He was across the room before, and somehow managed to cross the room unassisted, even with his withered skin, hippie sandals, and painfully crooked back. Even at his bent angle, he towers over me.

I blink.

He doesn’t.

He smiles kindly and says, “Adam, your performance has been deemed subpar. You have shown no remorse for your past actions and have yet to fully repent. The council has agreed with my assessment. You will spend another 1000 years here at LimboCo. I am so sorry, my son, but you have brought this upon yourself.”

Lucy cackles from across the room.

I suddenly remember. I remember everything. “I’m not sorry for what I did, you fickle motherfucker.”

The old man blinks.

 

* * *

 

I wake up at my desk.

First day on the job, and I dozed off. Great, now my boss will know I’m a lazy asshole. I wipe the drool from my face and glance around to see if anyone spotted my nap. I’m in the clear. I hear a quiet tapping and swivel in my new chair. A woman who seems in need of a time machine to take care of all of her wrinkles is smiling at me sadly. “Um, hello! My name’s Adam and I just started. Did you need something?”

The tapping stops.

She looks at me in a way that can only be described as unwanted fondness. “Yes, Adam, I know. I know all too well. My name’s Janine, and I just wanted to welcome you here to LimboCo. I hope you feel like you can come to me if you have any questions. I work on the eleventh floor. Feel free to visit whenever you like.”

I smile tentatively, “Thanks, Janine. I think I’m going to like it here.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, Critiques, & Kudos are all appreciated!


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